


In the Bright Sunlight

by pepperine



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Babies, F/M, Family Fluff, Parenthood, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperine/pseuds/pepperine
Summary: “Today the birds are singing for you, little one,” Ferdinand tells the bundle in his arms, stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb. His voice is impossibly soft, only just above a whisper, every word shaped by the smile that surely has not left his face all morning.“They are telling all of Enbarr that you are here,” he continues with a sniffle,  “And they are thanking the Goddess for putting you on this earth. Is it not wonderful?”Despite her lingering pain and exhaustion, Dorothea is unable to keep herself from smiling, content to simply watch her husband welcome their youngest child into the world.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	In the Bright Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tapsilog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tapsilog/gifts).



> While there's nothing graphic or explicit in this fic, childbirth and its resulting discomfort/messiness are mentioned several times.

“Do you hear that?” Ferdinand murmurs over the sound of birdsong, and Dorothea opens her tired eyes.

He sits in an elegant chair at her bedside, his gaze transfixed on the newborn in his arms, and his mouth held in a broad, shaky smile. Tears of joy drip slowly down his face, and Dorothea knows the only reason he has not moved to wipe them away is that he believes her to still be asleep. He would not wish even his wife to see him like this—his hair loose and wild in the breeze from the open window behind him, his white shirt streaked with blood and grime from the birth not even two hours prior, and his face wet with tears—and so Dorothea does nothing to let him know she is awake again.

“Today the birds are singing for you, little one,” Ferdinand tells the bundle in his arms, stroking the boy’s cheek with his thumb. His voice is impossibly soft, only just above a whisper, every word shaped by the smile that surely has not left his face all morning.

“They are telling all of Enbarr that you are here,” he continues with a sniffle, “And they are thanking the Goddess for putting you on this earth. Is it not wonderful?”

Ferdinand stares down in adoration at what Dorothea knows to be a tiny echo of his own face, dimpled and wide-mouthed, with eyes the color of wildflower honey. He tilts his head a bit more, until a tear runs down the bridge of his nose, then falls from the tip onto the baby’s face. With a quiet laugh, he leans in to kiss it away, even as the child fusses and squirms. And despite her lingering pain and exhaustion, Dorothea is unable to keep herself from smiling, content to simply watch her husband welcome their youngest child into the world.

“Soon you will hear an even more beautiful song,” Ferdinand promises, still unaware of Dorothea’s eyes on him. 

“Your mother will sing to you when she wakes, and oh, you do not know how lucky you are,” he says. He slips his fingers into the blanket that keeps his son tightly swaddled, and a moment later, Dorothea sees the tiny hand that now grips the end of Ferdinand’s thumb. 

“For her voice to be one of the first things you hear is not a blessing of which many are worthy,” Ferdinand says, leaning down again, this time to kiss the back of the chubby hand holding onto his own. “But it is truly what you deserve, my lovely Leopold.” 

“You’ve decided on Leopold?” Dorothea asks in surprise, the residual cramping in her belly growing stronger as she sits up. It is too painful to stay upright of her own accord for long, however, and so she leans back against the padded headboard and a mountain of pillows. 

“Oh, y-yes, I believe I have,” is Ferdinand’s only reply. His smile is startled now, but it has not fallen completely. He ducks his head to wipe his eyes on the mostly clean sleeve of his shirt, as reaching for the handkerchief in his pocket would surely jostle the baby—or rather, Leopold. 

Many of the conversations Dorothea had with her husband in the past weeks involved Ferdinand fretting over what name to give their youngest child. They settled on Sophia quite easily, should the baby be a girl, as that was the name of the first member of House Aegir to marry into the Imperial Family, and who ruled very successfully as a regent between her husband’s death and her son’s coming of age—and, well, Dorothea liked the sound of the name. 

But a boy’s name was trickier. Ferdinand selected a great number of namesakes from the history of House Aegir that he felt were appropriate for his son, and Dorothea narrowed the list down considerably to just the ones she liked. But that left them with the names of six men Ferdinand had idolized since before he could read, and he spent many hours extolling their individual virtues to Dorothea until she agreed to name their son after one—at which point, he would begin arguing the merits of another.

When the labor pains began the afternoon before, and Ferdinand was still vacillating between two names, Dorothea told him to just let her know of his decision when he reached it. Then (and only partially in jest) she began to pray for another daughter.

“It may seem trite,” Ferdinand offers self-consciously, his cheeks flushing a bit as he glances down at the baby in his arms again. “But I had only to see him with my own eyes to reach this conclusion. He simply looks like a Leopold, do you not agree?”

He tilts the bundle in his arms so Dorothea can see their son’s face. Leopold blinks a few times in the bright sunlight, then yawns peacefully. If not for the wisps of dark hair covering his head, Dorothea might think she was glimpsing her own husband as a newborn.

“He looks like _you_ , Ferdie,” she replies with a quiet laugh, so relieved to finally be free of his indecision. Her body aches with the movement, however slight, but she doesn’t mind. The worst is behind her, her memory of the pain already giving way to the elation of having one more person to love with all her heart.

“Well, now that you mention it,” Ferdinand says with a chuckle of his own. “Perhaps there is some resemblance around the chin.” His hand comes up to absently rub at his own jaw, still unshaven so late into the morning, and Dorothea hears the rasp of his invisible whiskers against his palm. 

“And the mouth. And the eyes. And the cheeks,” she lists off, giving him a wry smile. Then she reaches out toward him, smoothing one hand over his wild, unbrushed hair, and tucks some behind his ear.

“ _And_ , my darling,” she adds in a lower voice, tilting her face down as though she’s telling him a scandalous little secret. “He has your big, fat head.”

Ferdinand looks at once amused and apologetic. He glances away, trying not to return Dorothea’s grin, but she can see the way it pulls at his mouth. Over the years, he has gotten better at knowing when she is annoyed with him and when she’s only teasing. 

“Yes, I suppose he does,” Ferdinand admits, although the smile he ultimately gives her is far more guilty than Dorothea had hoped for. 

He regards her heavily for a long moment, the humor in his eyes slowly fading, before he speaks again.

“Are you still in much pain?” he asks. Leopold rests securely in the crook of one arm, and with the other, he reaches out to caress Dorothea’s leg, his palm sitting heavily just below her knee. She can feel the warmth of his skin through the sheets, the same steady, reassuring touch that kept her grounded all through the night and into the morning.

As he always did when the time came for Dorothea to bring a child into the world, Ferdinand refused to leave her side for more than a moment. He walked slowly with her through the vast, winding gardens of the Aegir estate, distracting her with stories and conversation for as long as he could. And when he could not, and she was confined to a bed in a part of their house far from where everyone else was sleeping, he held tight to her hand, kissing her knuckles and her sweaty forehead and coaxing her through every agonizing wave of pain. 

Only when the screaming, filthy newborn was placed on Dorothea’s chest did Ferdinand finally let go of her hand, and that was merely to cradle their baby closer to the both of them.

“I’ll be fine,” Dorothea answers, rubbing one hand over her aching middle, curling in on herself slightly as it begins to cramp up again. Her belly is soft and still far from flat, but she is delighted to find how easily she can bring her knees closer to her chest, resting her feet flat on the bed. Ferdinand’s face fills with concern, however, and he squeezes her leg gently.

“But certainly there is more that Manuela can do for you,” he says. “Shall I wake her?”

Although the midwives of Enbarr were some of the most highly trained in all of Fódlan, Ferdinand was ever cautious when it came to the wellbeing of his family, and he always insisted a physician skilled in both conventional medicine and white magic oversaw Dorothea when she gave birth. And, of course, Dorothea would settle for no one other than Manuela, even if it meant pulling her from her busy teaching schedule in the little village she now called home. 

While Manuela’s medical expertise was appreciated (particularly the ease with which she could remedy most complications during delivery), it was the emotional support of her mentor that Dorothea truly wished for whenever she called on her. She had grown accustomed to Manuela’s confident, affable bedside manner at school and during the war, and now few things soothed Dorothea more than that cheeky way she’d say, “You’re doing just fine, honey.”

“We should really let her sleep for a while,” Dorothea replies with a tired smile. “Besides, you heard her. There’s nothing more for her to do right now. She’s healed everything she can, and now I just need to rest, too.”

“But if you are in pain—” Ferdinand begins to argue, though he falls silent as the door to the bedroom slowly begins to squeak open.

The fact that no one knocked or announced themselves can only mean one thing, and despite her exhaustion, Dorothea feels her heart flutter.

“Mama?” comes the tentative voice of their younger daughter. A pair of green, bespectacled eyes peek out from behind the door, not even reaching the height of the doorknob, and a long tail of auburn hair dangles from one side of her head, its twin just out of view. 

“Is there, um… Did you finish having a baby?” Liesl asks nervously, as though she knows she should have waited for one of the nursemaids to bring her here. Dorothea breaks into an easy smile.

“Yes, I did, my darling,” she answers, reaching out a hand toward the little girl behind the door. “His name is Leopold. Would you like to meet him?”

“ _Him?_ What do you mean, _him?_ ” their older daughter cries from out in the hallway, the door bursting open before her with a rather theatrical smack of her hand. 

Leopold startles at the loud noise, letting out a pathetic wail even as Ferdinand begins to shush him.

“Vreneli, what does Papa say about slamming doors?” he asks pointedly, and she staggers into the room, the weight of knowing she now has a _brother_ appearing to weigh heavily upon her psyche. Were she anyone but the Prime Minister’s eldest child, Dorothea would have thought she’d have a career on the stage someday.

“To don’t,” is Vreneli’s dutiful answer. She collapses face-down onto the foot of Dorothea’s bed, her long, red curls fanning out across the sheets. Turning her head to one side, she eyes her mother in indignation. This is, quite possibly, the greatest betrayal she has ever experienced in her short five years of life.

Liesl makes her way over to where Ferdinand sits with the baby now tucked under his chin, rocking him gently and murmuring words of comfort into his ear. She watches quietly, holding onto her father’s knee, and he gives her a knowing smile.

“Are you disappointed to have a brother, Vren?” Dorothea asks, well aware of what the answer will be. She tilts her head to meet Vreneli’s eyes better, hidden as they are by her hair.

Vreneli doesn’t answer right away, but rather gives a few frustrated kicks of her feet over the side of the bed, and Dorothea struggles not to look too entertained. Then she gathers her composure and slowly nods, frowning and staring hard at the sheets in front of her face, her lower lip quivering.

“Ohh, sweetheart, it’s okay to be upset,” Dorothea coos, although she cannot help but chuckle as she opens her arms and Vreneli crawls right into them, hiding her face against her shoulder. She strokes her daughter’s silky hair, hugging her close despite the way it makes her tender chest ache. 

Ferdinand opens his mouth to say something, but Dorothea fears it will be a little too pragmatic for Vreneli’s taste right now, and so she cuts him off.

“Papa and I just thought it would be okay to have a boy this time,” she says softly, then kisses the top of Vreneli’s head. “He was starting to feel lonesome as the only boy in the family, you know?”

“But Jasper is a boy,” Vreneli pouts, referring to the Aegir hound puppy Ferdinand had given her for her most recent birthday.

“Three is still more than two,” says Liesl, eager to insert herself into the conversation and get one up on her sister. She holds up three fingers, making sure both Ferdinand and Dorothea can see them, then begins pointing to each member of her family as she counts. “But now it’s the same, see? One, two, three is girls, and—and three boys, too.” 

Ferdinand gives her a look of astonishment, resting a hand on her shoulder as he looks to Dorothea, who mimes a similar state of disbelief at their younger daughter’s intellect. 

“Lieselotte, you figured that out? All by yourself?” he asks with an indulgent smile, and Liesl covers her own wide grin with both hands. 

“Yes, Ferdie,” she answers with all the modesty she can muster, although her eyes positively sparkle with pride. The smile on Ferdinand’s face, however, grows tighter.

“Now— You _know_ we do not address Papa that way,” he reminds Liesl, who gives no absolutely no indication that she intends to comply. Dorothea bites her lip in amusement. 

Ferdinand has been trying—with little success—to teach the girls not to call him by name, frequently referring to himself in the third person whenever he’s with them. For whatever reason, it’s a habit they’ve both clung to since they first learned to speak, and truth be told, Dorothea does not know whose stubbornness will win out in the end—her daughters’ or her husband’s. 

“Can you just... promise you’ll have a girl next time?” Vreneli whines, shifting so that she leans against her mother more comfortably. She turns to give a wary look at the bundle in Ferdinand’s arms, although the baby has quieted considerably. 

“Two girls!” Liesl squeals, holding two fingers high in the air for her parents to see, and Dorothea is unable to contain the giggle that slips out of her. 

With Leopold only a few hours old, naturally she hasn’t given much thought to the notion of having even more children. But, while it certainly isn’t the first thing she’d like to do once she has recovered from the birth of her son, Dorothea cannot say the idea holds no appeal. 

She has experienced no greater joy than creating a family with Ferdinand, finally allowing her a chance to give—and receive—all the love she could not as a child, living alone and unwanted on the streets of Enbarr. And even in this moment, she is fairly certain she still has room left in her heart for more.

“ _Two_ girls,” Dorothea echoes in mock consideration, tapping at her chin and raising her eyebrows as she looks over at Ferdinand. She gives him a wink and a playful smile, eager to tease him. “What do you say, Ferdie? Twins… Think we can manage it?”

“W-Well, we shall have to see about that,” he says, his cheeks flushing bright red as he averts his eyes from his daughters. Even after three children and several years of marriage, Ferdinand still hasn’t outgrown much of his bashfulness—something Dorothea finds terribly sweet. 

Later, when the two of them are in a better state, she will have to press him further on the matter, if only to indulge in his reaction.

“But let us take things one step at a time for now,” Ferdinand continues, keen on changing the subject. He clears his throat and tugs at the blankets swaddling Leopold, straightening them out so he’ll look presentable.

“Girls, it is time you met your brother properly.”

“Ohh, can I— Can I hold him?” Liesl asks immediately, grabbing Ferdinand’s forearm and hopping up and down. She pauses to push her glasses back up her nose when they begin to slip, then follows her father’s questioning gaze to Dorothea, who has already begun rearranging the mountain of pillows around her to make more room on the bed.

“You _may_ ,” says Ferdinand, shifting Leopold to rest in only one of his arms so he can use the other to help push himself out of his chair. “But here, why don’t you sit with your mother and let her show you how.”

“Ferdie, what’s on your shirt?” Liesl then asks, and Dorothea glances up just in time to see Ferdinand’s eyes widen in horror at the state of his clothes.

“Oh, I—” 

When Leopold had just been born, Ferdinand did not even wait for Manuela or one of the midwives to clean him up before taking him into his arms, cradling him close as he first lay upon Dorothea’s chest, and then holding him securely against his own heart while the afterbirth was delivered. The maids in attendance were swift in ensuring Dorothea’s nightgown and bedding were changed, and that she and the baby were as clean as could be when the time came for Leopold’s first feeding. 

But Ferdinand was so awed by the little life Dorothea had just brought forth that he’d neglected the fresh change of clothes the servants had laid out for him, instead simply washing the grime from his hands so he could stroke his wife’s hair until she and the baby dozed off, exhausted from the events of the morning.

“Eww, is that blood?” Vreneli asks sharply, sitting up to get a clearer view of her father, though her arms squeeze Dorothea tighter.

“ _Blood?_ ” Liesl wails, staring up at Ferdinand’s filthy shirt for only another moment, before she tearfully throws herself onto the bed and scrambles into Dorothea’s arms, sniffling and hiding her face against her neck.

Ferdinand stands frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him, and Leopold begins to fuss again. He makes a few aborted motions, first to reach out to Liesl to comfort her, then to move behind the ornate dressing screen on the other side of the room, then to set the baby on the chair where he’d just sat.

“Ferdie, change your shirt,” Dorothea finally sighs in exasperation, wrapping one arm around a crying Liesl and reaching out to take Leopold with the other. “Here, give him—”

“Yes, I—I do not know what I was thinking,” Ferdinand admits with a shake of his head, leaning over Liesl to carefully place the baby in his mother’s arms. Leopold has begun to cry in earnest now, spurred on by the way Liesl shrieks when Ferdinand’s shirt touches her dress.

Then he marches quickly across the room to where his clean clothes sit in a neat stack, yanking his shirt off over his head in full view of Dorothea and the children—something he would _never_ do normally. But it seems his fatigue and the stress of the moment are getting to him.

“Is it your blood, Mama?” asks Vreneli. Her fingers squeeze Dorothea’s bare arm, demanding her attention, and yet she pointedly avoids touching even the blanket wrapped around her screaming brother.

“Well—” Dorothea begins, but then presses her lips together, choosing instead to simply rock her youngest two children back and forth in (attempted) silence as she tries to come up with some semblance of the correct answer. Perhaps it was foolish of her not to explain any of this beforehand, but the girls just seemed far too young to concern themselves with specifics of childbirth. 

“Did the baby kill you?” Liesl sobs, interrupting whatever coherent thought Dorothea believed she’d started to piece together. “Are you going to die?”

“I’m not going to die, sweetheart,” she answers, chuckling at the futility of the situation as she strokes Liesl’s hair. She gives Ferdinand a pleading look as he makes his way back over to the bed, wordlessly begging him to take at least one of their crying children.

Now wearing a clean shirt, he sits at the edge of the bed with far too much grace for someone who slept as little as he did the night before. But instead of pulling Liesl into his lap or taking Leopold into his arms to rock him properly, Ferdinand merely leans in and kisses Dorothea gently on the forehead.

“I believe,” he says, with a soft laugh of his own. “We should hold off on having those twin girls for now.”

“Yeah,” Dorothea agrees tiredly, lifting her newborn son up and pushing him into her husband’s arms. “You think?”

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> A (kind of late) birthday gift for [Parker](https://twitter.com/TAGASAING)!! Happy birthday, and thank you for loving Leopold so much.


End file.
